


Тоска

by Astrumiel, Lumieerie



Category: Cut & Run - Madeleine Urban & Abigail Roux
Genre: Alcohol, Angst, Angst With A Happy End, Canon Divergence, Cuddles, Fluff, Grieving, Happy Ending, Hurt/Comfort, Kissing, M/M, Mentions of Alcohol Abuse, Passage of time, Pet Names, Promises, Reunions, Secret Marriage, Secret Relationship, Set near the end of Crash & Burn, Sharing a Bed, Temporary Character Death, breakdowns, canon complacent
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-14
Updated: 2020-07-14
Packaged: 2021-03-04 17:35:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,580
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25270240
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Astrumiel/pseuds/Astrumiel, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lumieerie/pseuds/Lumieerie
Summary: “No,” his voice echoed. Like a broken record, the word repeated every so often. How that one word escaped from his scratched throat, Liam didn’t know.
Relationships: Liam Bell/Preston
Comments: 7
Kudos: 10





	Тоска

**Author's Note:**

> Strumie and I sure do love writing Presliam angst with a happy ending, huh? I love us

**A WEEK AGO.**

“You can leave now,” Kelly had said. Like always, hadn’t minced words.

Liam had arched an eyebrow. “Really, now? After all the work I’ve put into this operation,” he gestured around the room to the others. He didn’t know why he even bothered. Tyler, Owen, Digger, Nick, and even Zane all looked at him as if they couldn’t wait for Kelly to kick him out. He was surprised that none of the others dared speak.

He flicked his gaze to where Julian Cross and… Preston stood. Preston didn’t show anything in his expression, but that didn’t stop Liam as his gaze trailed downward and landed on the ring on Preston’s left hand. A simple gold band glinted in the light of the room. To everyone else, it would look only like an accessory. To Liam, that accessory symbolized everything- especially because Liam knew that on the inside, two names were engraved, hidden from sight.

He only knew that because Preston’s ring matched the one Liam kept hidden in his pocket.

“Fine,” he stated. “Leaving now would be for the best, lest you get sick of me and throw me into a meat locker or something.” They probably still blamed him for switching the bullets back in New Orleans, but Liam wasn’t about to argue with them. He was tired of arguing with them.

So for the first time in his life, he listened to Kelly and Sidewinder and left. He spared Preston a quick look and winked before the door closed and he sighed.

They didn’t know. He and Preston didn’t plan on telling anyone besides Cross and his husband about their private life for a long time. And even though Sidewinder didn’t know, Liam wished they did because he thought it was cruel they were separating him from the operation. From Preston.

**NOW.**

If Liam had known that that would be the last time he saw Preston, he would have fought harder. He _should_ have fought harder. _ **But no one could have known.**_

 _“No,”_ Liam croaked. He stood in front of the rubble of the last building Preston had been sighted in. The one where Julian sent off explosives and blew to smithereens. “No,” his voice echoed. Like a broken record, the word repeated every so often. How that one word escaped from his scratched throat, Liam didn’t know.

All he knew was the remnants of a crime scene before him. It had been important to blow the place up. Liam knew that. _He knew that!_ But did he really? He swallowed back another deflection and stepped forward. His boot crushed gravel and the closer he got, the more reality taunted him. It mocked him with the truth of what happened that night. Sidewinder went in with Preston and Julian. Sidewinder came out without Preston.

 _Preston_.

Sidewinder came out _**without**_ Preston. That thought swirled around him, the fact almost palpable as his mind said it once more. _**Sidewinder came out of De la Vega’s place without Preston.**_ A pitched noise replaced the litany of ‘no’s coming from him. It morphed into a whine. It crescendoed in quick eighth notes: stuttered, and his lips quivered. With each noise that left him, his whole body trembled, and he sank to his knees.

Memories flashed before him.

_He’d met Preston barely a year after he ran away from service. Bumped into him while trying to leave the pub. Drunk and sad and telling love that it could fuck itself, Liam hadn’t noticed the pretty blond until the last second. Then he apologized in a rush, and when he tried to leave, the blond had grabbed his arm and offered him a ride home. Why the fuck had Liam trusted a stranger to take him home that night? It worked out well, obviously, but when Liam woke up, the blond had left._

_From there it had been chance meetings. Hailing a cab and watching the blond get out of the cab last second, because he’d gotten a text. Blocking the blond from shooting a target just to make his job harder. Running from the CIA, catching a glimpse of blond hair from across the street, before the bus picked him up._

_Then they officially met. Liam got to know him: learned everything about the blond with gorgeous ice-blue eyes, pale skin, and a personality like James Bond. Preston hadn’t talked much in the beginning, always quick agreements or orders directed at Liam to shut up. Then they started working together._

_An efficient team formed from the two of them. Liam liked to pretend he was the brains and brawn behind the operation, but despite his strength and deadly skills, Preston called him the ‘pretty boy.’ Liam never argued. Preston had been the smarter one, the stronger one, and the more dependable one._

_He knew Cross from Preston but they had all agreed to keep their associations secret. That meant his and Preston’s relationship had become a secret too. Not a problem. Liam lived and breathed better in the shadows, and if he shared his shadowy world with Preston? Preston, with eyes brighter than light reflecting off of snow? Then so be it._

_Then almost three months ago- not even three whole months ago- Liam proposed. He dragged Preston out of the country for New Years and proposed in December. There’d been snow and chatter and cold breath mingling as they shared the night together. There was no worry about Sidewinder or anything; just them. Liam had pressed a knee into the snow, held out a ring, and proposed to the only man in the world who meant anything. The only one who had filled a voice left by a life of bad decisions and terrible luck._

_Preston had said yes. The only worthwhile decision Liam had made in a long time, and the outcome had been happier than expected. And they got married the next night, unwilling to wait to tell the news to Julian and his husband. Unwilling to share the moment with anyone else. **Liam had only called Preston his husband for two and a half months.**_

Now, he stared at Preston’s unmarked grave of ash and debris.

Frustration and denial consumed him. _No, it couldn’t be_. He refused to allow it. He refused to acknowledge the truth. His throat swelled with held back venom, and Liam slammed his fist down into the gravel. It hurt. Rocks pooled around his fist and he did it again and again and again until his fingers throbbed with a heat much like the pain in his heart. “No!” He wailed loudly- the only word that was coherent against the noises that filled the air.

He raised his other hand into the air and was stopped by someone grabbing his wrist. He whipped his head at his obstacle and glared at Kelly Abbot with bloodshot eyes. “No.” His voice squeaked, the barest hint of an accent slipped out with the word. “Go away. Let me-” he breathed in sharply, then exhaled. “Let me-” he stopped, the words drowned out by a sob. Sorrow bubbled inside him. Overwhelming agony and anger and - and - and -

Liam jerked his arm from Kelly’s grasp and howled. A muted, painful howl that symbolized every past lie and mistake Liam had ever done. His flaws personified, Liam lurched forward and dug both of his fists into the gravel. Here he was, surrounded by the tomb that belonged to his late husband. “Preston,” he whispered, loud and forced and squeaky as if he were trying to learn a new word.

“Liam.” Kelly’s voice pulled at him.

He ignored Kelly. He ignored the world. Liam fell forward, balance lost, and he didn’t even care. His cheek crushed into the ground, and Liam blinked at the side-ways view of the world. His tears slid down his face, and he sniffled. Everything burned. _Everything hurt._ Liam was a husk, an emptied shell left to rot at the bottom of the ocean, and finally, after all these years, he believed that he deserved it.

Footsteps sounded, and Liam blinked when he saw Kelly’s boots in front of him. He refused to look up. He felt exposed under Kelly’s gaze, but there was nothing he could do. Moving seemed like a bad idea. He just wanted to decay right where he lay. “We were married,” he said numbly. “Just married.” He heard Kelly’s breath as it hitched, but even that didn’t make Liam look up. He stared at a shiny, red rock three feet away. If they were near a lake, Liam would have been tempted to skip it.“We promised each other that when this was done, we would hide out somewhere. With Julian and his husband, of course. Preston loved them like family… I _was going to love them like family too._ ”

Liam whimpered and sniffled, holding back a second wave of tears. “Everyone gets a happy ending but me.” he pushed out a shaky breath. Internally, he commanded himself to stop crying. _Stop showing weakness._ Preston would have called him out on his bullshit act of, “Getting over it.” _Preston wasn’t here._ Liam bit his lip harshly and drew blood. Then he continued, “He trusted- he- Preston trusted you all. When I told him that-”

A moment passed where Liam held his breath. If he stopped breathing maybe he would join Preston. _No_ , he couldn’t even if he wanted to. Preston would kick his ass if Liam followed after him so soon. “-That you didn’t want my help. He said that he had it under control. Now he’s…” He didn’t want to say the word.

He _couldn’t_ say it.

Finally, Liam turned and looked up at Kelly with pleading eyes. “I know I’m hated. I know I can never redeem myself to you or the others. _But Preston chose me._ ” He closed his eyes and raised a hand so he could wipe his nose. He imagined how pathetic he must look to Kelly right now. “And now he’s gone. My. Preston. _Gone_.” He rolled back onto his side and curled into a fetal position.

And cried. And cried. And cried.

On an average day, Liam Bell carried a cocky smile and acted like he owned the world. He danced around feelings and looked people in the eye with challenge. He gambled with life and cheated death and did it all with a fraudulent smile that only one man had ever seen through. His mask had shattered the night he proposed to the love of his life. Now it seemed that he needed to put the mask back on.

Kelly said something and left. Liam almost begged him to say; but why would Kelly stay after that breakdown and rambling? Kelly hated him. All of Sidewinder hated him. Liam didn’t blame them. He hated himself too. For the first time in his life, he had listened to someone and not gotten in the way of a mission. Look where that got him.

But then Kelly came back. “Come on, Bells,” he said. The tone he used was one he usually used for children.

Liam protested as Kelly pulled him to stand. He knew that Kelly was stronger, albeit more scary, than the others in Sidewinder, but a long time had passed since he’d witnessed Kelly’s strength.

 _Strength_. Liam didn’t even have the strength to actually protest. Instead, he weakly said something in Russian. Then he translated it, “Put me down. Let me rot.”

“Nope. No can do, crybaby,” Kelly replied.

“I’m allowed to mourn my husband.” Liam’s voice cracked. His own words made him want to cry again. “Why do you care?”

“I don’t.” Kelly’s words ripped Liam’s heart in pieces. “Is what I would say if I was an asshole,” Kelly added, and it was shocking enough to make Liam stop sniffling. “You’re mourning, and I need to get you somewhere where you can mourn properly.”

“Where would I go?” Liam rasped as he balanced himself. He could walk, and the thought of leaning on Kelly for support revolted him. He pretended that he wasn’t in enough emotional pain that it hindered his ability to lie to the damn Doc. “My- _our_ home was in Chicago, and we’re here, and-” He refrained from rambling. If he rambled then he would cry again.

“A hotel? For the night, at least. Do you want me to get in contact with Julian? I know that you must’ve been close if you married Preston.”

Liam decided that, though Kelly was helping him now, Kelly didn’t need to know his relationship with Cross. Having a very-public breakdown was enough as far as vulnerable moments went. Telling Kelly more would be like letting him cross a finish line. “No,” he finalized. “Just take me somewhere where I can be alone.”

It astounded Liam how quickly the months passed, leaving him alone to suffer the wheel of time. April bled into May like a deliberately shallow cut. Pitiful and empty months, filled with nothing but regret. The summer that followed was an uncomfortable blur of heat and storms that, more often than not, just drained Liam. Finally, Liam found himself back in Chicago - in the little apartment Preston had bought. The place that they had once, for a scarce two weeks, called “home” together.

The bed was unmade on Preston’s side - just a little. Where in public Preston had the perfect clean and precise approach, at home he had let himself be a little messier. Liam didn’t even bother with his coat. He sank down to his knees on the bed then fell over and curled himself up. He clutched the pillow that held a trace of Preston. That’d been the last night Preston’s scent had washed over Liam. Sometime after - not like Liam gave a fuck about what day it was - a new habit started.

On nights he managed to force himself to leave the apartment, he usually ended up at bars. Never the same one too often, but in a city this big, that wasn’t a problem. The first time he got completely plastered, Liam nearly fell off the riverwalk when a voice echoed through his head that he needed to, _“Stop this - Li you need to stop.”_ He spun around looking for _him_ only to find himself alone, now more so than ever before.

Liam dreamt about him too . . . Sometimes, if he was lucky, the dreams were good. Ones where he’d wake up next to Preston and got to hold him with no care in the world. Others where he found Preston in the rubble- knocked out, but safe and sound. Preston was always alive in those dreams.

He ignored Cross’s occasional offer for jobs or an escape from the city. Julian meant well but Liam wasn’t here because he was strapped for cash. He was here like this because leaving the apartment would mean that he was… Liam dared not to think about it. So, it became a cycle of grieving until it became too much. Drink until there was nothing to hold onto, then he waited and hoped that maybe his drunken stupor would bring a memory or dream of Preston to him.

Some local bars started their Oktoberfest special, and Liam convinced himself to go through with the celebration. A few ladies talked him into trying disgusting cinnamon and apple vodka shots, before he settled on drinking alone. The night wore on.

When he stumbled out hours later, it was hard to tell the time. It was always hard to tell the time in Chicago. The point was, Liam was shit-faced and numb. The last time he’d frequented this bar, he had stumbled out cackling like a maniac and dreamt. This time he wasn’t cackling. Maybe it would be easier if he just- if he could feel something. Anything at all. The wind whispered by and he hadn’t even felt that.

He stepped out into the street, to either hail a cab or get hit by one, he didn’t know. With how much he swayed right now, either was possible. When neither happened and someone physically grabbed Liam and dragged him off of the street and onto the sidewalk, Liam was confused momentarily.

A face wavered into focus and his confusion grew. That face belonged to someone he spent months chasing. Someone familiar. Someone important to Liam. Suddenly, the sobering thought that maybe this is too much crossed his mind. _He_ wouldn’t want this.

“Why can’t I stop seeing your ghost?” Liam mourned softly against the wind. _This wasn’t fair._

Preston looked back at him with pain in his eyes. He shook his head slightly. “I’m very real Liam,” he promised. He looked almost exactly like he did the day they got married. Down to the useless trench coat that made him look all mysterious.

“Oh, I know. My mind seems to remember you perfectly,” Liam rambled. “The one good thing is I’ll keep you like this until I die.” He gestured to Preston and then sighed. “Maybe _I am_ dreaming again.”

“Li, I’m-” Preston grabbed at Liam’s elbow to help him walk steadily. “I’m taking you home,” he said.

That’s odd. Usually, Liam just blinked and found the two of them curled up together somewhere. Some dream this was turning out to be.

“God, these months without you hurt, love,” Liam whispered as they walked the short distance home. He had had enough of the raw ache in his chest. He grabbed his dream’s coat and pulled him into a kiss that was just as inelegant as it was needed.

Fuck, it felt, and tasted, better than any other dream. Far too visceral, and far too real.

Preston kissed him back.

Ignoring the alcohol on his breath, Liam reeled back. He blinked at the dream, stunned. “This isn’t a dream is it?” He asked, voice cracking. It couldn’t be- dreams were shallow comforts, and this… This would be too cruel to dream.

He hadn’t kissed anyone besides Preston in months. If he wasn’t dreaming and had just been assaulted by a stranger then. Then- Preston shook his head. “Liam, you’re drunk. Let’s get you home, and we can talk in the morning.”

“I’m not drunk,” Liam argued. “If I were drunk, you’d be a dream, and I would be walking home depressed and delusional.” Tears threatened his eyes. “If I were drunk, you’d wipe away my tears, and we’d be home, safe and sound and comfortable in our bed. But I’m not drunk, and you’re not alive, and this is the cruelest dream.” His voice lowered as he spoke. Liam’s new way of trying to force down his emotions.

Preston stepped closer and cupped his cheeks. Liam didn’t pull away. Whether it was because he was drunk, or because he hadn’t felt this comforting gesture in so long, he didn’t know. He didn’t want to know. Maybe this was a dream, and it was just different for once.

“I’m not a dream,” Preston assured him once more.

“Prove it,” Liam mumbled sadly. “Dream Preston would never be so cruel to me.”

The dream had the audacity to listen to Liam and wiped at his tears. Preston gently ran a thumb across Liam’s cheek. Then, as Preston titled Liam's head up, their eyes found each other, and light ice met the dark ocean. Preston smiled. “Even in the dust, there’ll be you,” he quoted something Liam hadn’t heard since they got married.

“What did you just say?” He whispered.

“You said to prove it,” Preston reminded him. “When we got married, our vows stated that even if our rings collected dust or were melted down, we would still have each other to remind ourselves that we’re in love.” He leaned in closer and rested his forehead against Liam’s. “Then, after we celebrated that night, my ring accidentally fell into the fireplace ashes after the fire had died down. You retrieved it and made the comment that now it was tainted- so we switched wedding rings.”

No one, not even Cross, had known that Liam wore Preston’s real ring, and Preston wore his. He closed his eyes, afraid that this really was a dream now and that if he opened them, Preston would be gone. “I told you to wear mine for good luck.”

“You also joked that it was the only good luck charm that worked.”

Liam laughed. “Clearly it didn’t.”

“I think it did,” Preston said. He gently patted Liam’s cheeks. “Open your eyes, Bellflower. It’s me, your husband.”

His breath hitched. Even in his dreams, Preston never called him by his nickname. He pulled away and looked at Preston with wide eyes. “Pres? It’s really you and not some hallucination sent by the Gods to kill me?” He placed his hands on Preston’s arms and squeezed.

Preston snorted. “It’s me.” He opened his mouth to say something more, but Liam surged forward and caught Preston’s lips in a kiss.

A proper, sloppy kiss. It was filled with the taste of alcohol, but Liam did not care. He gripped Preston’s arms, before he dragged his hands down and wrapped them around Preston’s torso. Preston returned the embrace, and Liam melted. When he pulled from the kiss, Liam rested his head against Preston’s collar and just breathed him in. “You’re real. I’m drunk-”

“I thought you said you weren’t.” Preston had only been back for a minute, but he was already teasing him.

Liam sighed, tired, drunk, and for the first time since Miami, content. “Lying is easy, telling the truth is harder. Take me home, and we can talk in the morning. There’s no way in hell I’m going to believe this wasn’t a dream unless I wake up in your arms.”

The minutes ticked on by slowly. Fastly. Was fastly a word? Liam groaned and pushed his internal monologue away. He didn’t care. He slumped into Preston’s side. He only noticed they were home when Preston prompted him for the apartment keys. “I got it,” he said.

“No you don’t,” Preston replied and held out his hand. “You’re shaky, and soon your words will slur together, or you’ll start to speak Russian.”

Liam huffed, “Noooo.” He stopped himself from calling Preston something rude… In Russian. Damn him.

“And it begins.” Preston took the keys from Liam and unlocked the apartment door.

Liam started toward the living room. He almost tripped over his own foot when Preston called after him. “No, not there. You’re sleeping in a bed tonight, Bells.”

He turned around quickly and moaned weakly as his head throbbed. “I sleep in a bed every night,” he protested. Then he gestured to the couch. “Comfy, soft bed right there. The most comfortabletastic. Is that a word?”

“I’ll never understand how alcohol has slow side-effects on you.” Preston shook his head. “No, that is not a word.”

Liam giggled. “It's because I’m always _rushing_. Ha, get it- cause I’m _**Russian**_.” Sidewinder had nothing on him when it came to puns, Liam prided himself in that. Okay, so he was _really_ drunk. _Whatever_. And yes, alcohol always took its time when it filtered through his system.

“You were not like this five minutes ago.” Preston’s tone had a hint of amusement in it. “I’m going to help you change and then sleep, okay Li?”

Liam gasped and slapped a hand to his chest. “You’re gonna undress me? Lyubimiy, ask me first! ” Then he added, “I am at least six drunks- and happy too!”

Preston rolled his eyes. “We’re going to sleep, Liam. Then when you have a hangover in the morning, I’ll explain everything.”

He might have groaned or complained, but Liam forgot what happened after that. All he remembered was being led to their room and stripped down to his boxers. Then there was water, probably, and maybe a pillow? The point was, Liam drifted off to sleep faster than he had in a long time.

A full eight hours later, Liam jolted awake and ignored the pounding in his head as he looked around his room. When his eyes landed on his bed partner, he was overwhelmed. He stretched out a hand towards Preston but pulled it back. What if he touched Preston and it did turn out to be an illusion? What if fate had played a trick on him again? What if...

Ignoring his fears, Liam reached out once more and placed his hand on Preston's shoulder.

The months had dragged on with a cold atmosphere regardless of the real weather. They'd been lonely and empty and even the colors had faded. Boring and grey, almost monochrome. Preston was the opposite. He was warmth incarnate, and as he breathed slowly in his sleep, he gave color to the room. To everything that surrounded them.

He watched Preston's chest rise and fall. Butterflies fluttered in his stomach as the realization finally made sense. Preston was alive. Preston was home. Preston came back to Liam. Thrilled and overcome with emotion, tears pricked at Liam’s eyes as he moved his hand from Preston's shoulder down his arm.

“Li?” Preston’s question came out in a slur as his eyes opened, and he looked up at Liam.

Often, Liam compared Preston to winter because of his looks. Now, however, he looked like the Autumn Equinox. His disheveled bedhead a mirror of fallen leaves and voice as comforting as the autumnal wind, Preston marked the beginning of fall. He smiled down at Preston and raised a hand to caress his cheek. “Dobroye utro lyubov' moya.”

Preston leaned into his touch and hummed. “Morning to you too. Do you want the explanation now or after breakfast?”

“Breakfast can wait.” Actually, _the entire world could wait_ , Liam decided. He would keep everything locked outside so he could catch up with his husband and find out what happened. He retracted his hand and laid back down, curling into Preston and placed his head on his chest.

As Preston launched into an explanation, Liam closed his eyes and listened. He couldn’t promise that the words made sense to him, considering he paid more attention to Preston's heartbeat, but he caught snippets of the conversation. Preston implied something about switching bullets, but never specified.

Liam knew that Preston knew he wasn’t paying attention when he hummed the same response too many times. “I’m listening,” he half lied. He was listening! Just not to Preston’s words. Instead, he concentrated on the steady rhythm of Preston’s heart. "The gates of hell opened up for you, but you walked backward until you found me again.“ He grinned to himself when he felt the rumble of laughter from Preston’s chest.

“You know what saved me in the end?” Preston said quietly.

Liam hummed before asking, "What?"

"Thinking of you - of coming back home to you - if-" He paused tightening his grip on Liam, like he had to hold him closer to be able to say it. "-if I hadn't paused to check if your ring was still with me . . . just that one pause made all the difference."

There was nothing Liam could say to that, nothing that would cover all it meant to him right then. That he was the reason Preston was alive, that their love meant that much.

He moved so that he was on top of Preston and peered down into his eyes. Then, he grinned. “I am never letting you leave my sight again.” Inelegant perhaps, but Preston knew him well enough to hear what he truly meant.

**Author's Note:**

> Тоска is a feeling of deep longing. A Russian word that if used in a sentence like "Тоскую по тебе," it would translate to "I miss you," but even then it would not translate well as there is no correct English translation to truly grasp the meaning. I asked three Russian friends as a fact check and they said that as a standalone, it could also mean "Sorrow" which is still very fitting for this.


End file.
